“You slept with me, dangled us in front of me like a fucking carrot—”
“Don’t rewrite history. You’d just gotten divorced and said you wanted one night. I did not give youanyindication that I wanted us again. I will never want us again. And don’t act like I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear before we hooked up. Now I would do anything to take it back because clearly that was a fucking mistake—”
He stopped talking when she started to cry, when her bottom lip trembled and she did everything she could to stop herself from crying.
Constantine bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the destruction he’d caused. Fortunately for them, everyone was too drunk and absorbed in the fun to notice the soap opera playing out in the corner.
She took a deep breath and brought herself to a state of semicalm. “We were practically kids at the time, Con. Why can’t you just forgive me?”
Now, when he spoke, he was calm, like he really felt bad that he’d made her cry. “I have forgiven you, Issy.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“Just because I forgive you doesn’t mean I want to be with you.”
“We were so young. It was a stupid mistake.”
“We weren’tthatyoung. Girls were always throwing themselves at me, and I could have fucked all of them and you wouldn’t have ever known. But I never did.” He closed his fist to his chest. “Because I’m fucking loyal. Because I fucking loved you. This is so stupid to even talk about right now because it’s been nine goddamn years.”
“And we’re still meant to be together, Con.”
“Why?” he challenged. “Because our families are close? What kind of fucking reason is that? The only people meant to be together are the ones who work their asses off to be together. You didn’t do that. You kissed my brother and lied to me.”
“He kissed me—”
“I never cared about the kiss. I cared about the lie. Trust is broken, and in my book, that can never be fixed. You break a bone and you mend it, but it’s never what it was. It aches in the cold, it hurts when you twist it a certain way. It’s not the same.”
Her bottom lip started to tremble again. She fought the tears from reaching the surface.
I wasn’t mad about this at all. I actually felt for her, because if I’d had Constantine the way she did and lost him, I’d be devastated. Not devasted for a year or two. But my whole fucking life. Desperate to get him back, even after a decade.
He looked over his shoulder at the back door, clearly searching for me. “I never thought I’d say this, but I hope my mom ambushed her. The last thing I want is to scare her off and have her think I’m still hung up on my ex or some bullshit.”
I knew I should leave and walk back to the main house in case he did look for me. He didn’t want to explain his conversation with Isabella, and I didn’t want to explain that I overheard the entire thing. Both of us wanted to keep those cards in our pockets.
If they said anything else, I didn’t hear it because I headed across the house, back to where I came from. I walked into the kitchen and saw his mother and aunt finish preparing the cannoli and place them on multiple serving platters. “Need a hand?”
His mother looked up first, having the same kind of luminance in her gaze that her son had when he was excited. I recognized it well, saw the sincerity on the surface. “Yes, yes, yes. Come on over.”
When I came to her side, she rubbed my back like I was one of her kids. “Put one of these on every table.” She handed me two different plates of cannoli, an assortment of flavors of pistachio, vanilla, and chocolate.
I carried them out of the kitchen and into the hallway—and almost walked right into Constantine.
“What have we got here?” He looked at the two plates in my hand before he smiled, but it wasn’t the same smile I’d seen from him through the night. It was strained, the weight of his confrontation with Isabella still heavy on his mind.
“Your mom asked me to help. It’s nice to know she trusts me not to take these into the bathroom and eat them by myself.”
This time, the smile was genuine. This time, it reached his eyes. This time, it lit up his entire face. “Here, let me help you.” He took both the plates out of my hand. “And make sure you don’t eat one of these in front of me.”
“Why?”
He moved into me, coming closer like he might kiss me where everyone on the terrace could see if they looked. But he didn’t seem to care about that, about Issy or his family or anyone. “Because the last cannoli you ate was on my dick.”
Most of the guests had already left when we said goodbye in the entryway. His mother held him for a long time and struggled to let go, knowing he was leaving Sicily for Rome tomorrow.
“I don’t see you enough,” she said. “And you know how busy the restaurant is. I’d come see you if I could.”
“I know, Ma. I’ll try to come back soon.”
